“Let me go with you, Holt. Please.” Angel laid a hand on his arm, her face upturned with a plea. “I feel I owe it to Okoka and the baby to make sure he’s all right.”
He nodded. “Get your wrap then. It’s chilly outside.”
Angel slipped on the jacket he had bought her to go with the gown, and together they left the hotel to walk to the hospital. Both were aware of the man watching them leave, and when he fell into stride several paces behind them Angel glanced up and saw Holt’s eyes narrow.
“He can’t follow us into the hospital,” he murmured with satisfaction. “He’ll have to take his best guess as to what we’re doing in there.”
“Why do you think he’s interested in us?”
“Probably Craddock’s man. It would certainly explain a lot.”
Angel found it hard to believe the widower would go to such lengths to track her movements, but then, Craddock did seem to be obsessed with her. Well, his crony would have to go back and report they had visited the hospital and let Craddock make of it what he would. She found the thought amusing.
“What are you giggling about, woman?”
Angel shot a mischievous glance at her dandified escort. “Holt, what if we entered the hospital and never came out?”
His gray eyes flashed with admiration. “How come I didn’t think of it? I do believe there’s an alley conveniently situated behind the place.”
They reached the clapboard building. A glance over the place confirmed their idea.
“After we visit Jean-Claude we’ll make good use of the back window,” Holt said.
Angel’s heart raced with anticipation as she mounted the wooden steps beside Holt.
“Slowly, now,” he cautioned her with a grin. “We don’t want our new friend to get suspicious.”
She slanted a glance over her shoulder at the shadowy figure pausing beneath a lamp post, ostensibly to light a cigar. It was definitely cold out, and the poor fellow was likely to get chilled before his night was through.
Holt held open the door and Angel went in first, to be greeted by the resident nurse on duty. The doctor had gone home for the evening.
“How’s Jean-Claude?” Holt asked the nurse, as he stripped off his dinner gloves and stuffed them in his coat pocket. The nurse was respectful to the well-dressed pair and invited them to see for themselves.
“Your brother awoke several times this afternoon,” the nurse said as she led them down the hall. Brother? Angel looked at Holt with surprise. He shrugged and winked, then stepped into the small room where Jean-Claude was settled.
The patient rested on a narrow iron bed. The remaining decor was a wooden chair and a nightstand with a pitcher. The room was, however, spanking clean, and so was the patient. Someone had taken the time to shave Jean-Claude, and without the heavy growth of beard the Frenchman looked young and vulnerable.
“He keeps asking for someone named Anne-Marie,” the nurse said, looking curiously at Angel.
“Ah, yes, our sainted mother,” Holt said, with a dazzling smile at the nurse that clearly rocked the poor woman back on her heels. “He was always her favorite, you know.”
“I see. Well, you may stay a little while,” the nurse said, backing out of the room. “He mustn’t be upset, though. I’m sure you understand.”
Holt nodded. Angel smiled at the woman as well. Soon they were alone with the patient.
“Your ‘sainted mother’?” Angel giggled, pressing a hand to her lips.
Holt scowled. “It was the best I could do on short notice.” He walked over to the bed and looked down at Jean-Claude. “Looks like Doc has done the best he can. Time will tell.”
“Poor man. He looks so young.”
Holt nodded. “But old enough to have a family depending on him. If he doesn’t recover, who will look after his wife and child?”
“We will,” Angel said, and at his surprised look she stammered, “I mean, I’d hope you would check in on them from time to time.”
“I fully intend to, but what about you?”
“Me?” Angel whispered. “What do you mean?”
“Are you up to staying in the Territory a little longer? Or do you want to take Craddock up on his offer?”
“Of course not. Holt, are you saying what I think …?”
He shrugged. “It’s entirely up to you. There’s still the question of the legality of our marriage.”
“And the mine,” Angel said. She moved closer to him, trying to read his inscrutable expression. What was he hoping? Did he want her to stay, or go? “Yes, I’d like to stay, Holt.”
“All right. We’ll work something out.”
Jean-Claude groaned. Both of them leaned toward the bed. The young man’s lips moved soundlessly for a moment, and then a name hissed from his lips in the taut silence of the room.
“Anne-Marie.”
The couple looked at each other in faint alarm when he rolled his injured head from side to side, calling the name louder and more plaintively with each passing second.
Angel moved to take his limp hand in her own. “Taisez-vous. Hush, Jean-Claude.”
“Anne-Marie?” The delirious man struggled to lift his head. “Is it you?”
Angel hesitated briefly. “C’est moi. Lie quiet, now. You’ve been hurt.”
“Ah, cherie.”
Angel exchanged a surprised glance with Holt. Anne-Marie was definitely not his mother.
The trapper gripped Angel’s hand so hard it turned white. She gasped.
“Espouser moi,” Jean-Claude muttered.
Angel paled and Holt demanded, “What’s he saying?”
“He asked me — I mean, Anne-Marie — to marry him.”
“What the devil?” Holt didn’t like that one bit. He asked skeptically, “Are you sure the man’s out cold?”
“Oui — y-yes,” Angel stammered. In vain Angel tried to tug her hand free, but Jean-Claude’s grip was so intense, it brought tears to her eyes.
“Anne-Marie?” he repeated anxiously.
“J’y pense.” I’m thinking about it. If Holt’s glare was any indication, she’d better think fast.
Jean-Claude’s grip went slack. Relieved, Angel lowered his hand gently to the bed. “He’s unconscious again,” she said with relief, massaging her aching fingers.
Holt still wasn’t smiling. “What was that all about?”
“I think Anne-Marie must have been his fiancée. Maybe his first wife. Whoever she was, obviously he loved her dearly.”
“Obviously,” Holt growled, tapping his foot a little..
“He’s doing better, I think,” Angel said. “He has a chance now.”
“And in his imagination, he has a chance with you.”
“Oh, Holt, don’t be silly. The poor man is delirious. He wouldn’t be at all interested in me if he were awake.”
He slanted her a wry glance. “Don’t be so sure. It seems I’m being challenged on all sides for you.”
“That’s nonsense and you know it. We’d better leave him to rest now. I hope the nurse didn’t hear any of it.”
The nurse hadn’t and was nowhere to be seen as they stepped out into the hall.
“Now’s our chance,” Holt said, leading Angel to the rear of the building, where he hefted open a large window. It was a good drop to the alley, and Holt helped Angel onto the sill and lowered her down first, dangling her briefly until she could get her legs in position for the drop.
A musty pile of straw cushioned her fall, and Angel brushed loose strands from her skirts and hair as she stepped back out of Holt’s way. He dropped catlike from the sill, landing nearby. They both looked to the end of the alley, where they could see the man who had followed them still smoking his cigar, watching the hospital entrance.
“What now?” Angel whispered.
“We find a new hotel.” Holt took her by the hand, tugging her along. “Or better yet, a boardinghouse.”
“There’s still a tab at the front desk where we were staying.”
>
“I’ll stop in and pay it later. Let’s give Craddock time to cool his heels.”
“And Jean-Claude?”
“We can check on him again. Right now we need to find a safe haven.”
A SAFE HAVEN, AS it turned out, was a seedy boarding-house close to the railroad tracks. Holt insisted they’d be safer there, but Angel didn’t relish the view or the mouse-infested room they rented for a night.
She insisted on accompanying Holt to the mining claim office the following morning, if only to get out of the boardinghouse. She’d never imagined the confusion once they arrived at the government building to check the status of their claim.
Holt supplied the name of his father and the mine, and they waited a half hour for the clerk to research the deed. When the fellow returned shaking his head both Holt and Angel stared at him in disbelief.
“Sorry; can’t find anything. You sure it’s under the name Murphy? Spelled M-u-r-p-h-y?”
“Yes, or the Lucky Devil Mine. Did you check all the records?”
The elderly clerk squinted at Holt indignantly over his pince-nez. “I always do, young man. ’Fraid I checked everything there was.”
“Then I suggest you check again — ” Holt began hotly, but Angel placed a restraining hand on his arm. She adopted her sweetest, most cajoling tone with the clerk.
“Sir, what about McCloud? Royce McCloud. Try that name.”
Grumbling, the clerk wandered back to his dusty files, only to return a short time later with a thick sheaf of papers.
“Yep, it’s here, all right,” he announced. “You could of saved me a lot of time by giving me the right name in the first place.”
“Yes, yes, but what does it say about the Lucky Devil?” Holt interrupted impatiently.
“That’s another thing, son. T’ain’t called the Lucky Devil. It’s spelled out clear right here.” He opened the file and jabbed an ink-stained thumb on the deed. “A-n-g-e-l. Lucky Angel. Odd name for a mine,” he mused. “’Pears there’s been some misunderstandin’ on your end.”
Angel and Holt exchanged shocked glances. “Are you sure?” they asked in unison.
The clerk shoved the file at them. “See for yourself.”
They did, and it was. Angel shook her head over that revelation, as much as another paper Holt read aloud a second later.
“I hereby deed over all my claim in aforesaid mine to my partner, Royce McCloud …”
It was signed by Arthur Murphy and dated several months before his death.
Holt slammed the file shut with a poof of dust. His face drained of color. Angel understood then that she alone, not she and Holt, had inherited the mine. It was renamed for her, and it belonged to her now. Holt had inherited nothing.
“There must be some mistake,” she said.
“No mistake.” Holt spoke curtly. “It’s Arthur’s signature, all right. What I don’t understand is why the old bastard didn’t bother to tell me he’d sold out.”
“Holt, please.” Angel understood his rage and disappointment, and placed her hand over his balled fist on the counter. “It doesn’t change anything.”
He jerked his hand away. “The hell it doesn’t. All my life I’ve sweated, broken my back in that hellhole, for Arthur and his dreams, and he led me to believe I’d have a stake in it someday. What have I got to show for it now?”
She faltered, trying to rally them both. “You can still work the mine. I’ll deed you back your half.”
“No. Spare me any favors, sweetheart. Murphy men have more pride than to take the leavings of a woman.”
The words stung, but Angel knew how shocked and devastated he was. “Let’s reason this out,” she said. “Maybe we’re missing something here.”
“A hell of a lot, I’d say.” Holt shoved the file back at the clerk and stalked out of the claims office. Angel picked up her skirts and hurried after him, calling his name. She got him to stop on the boardwalk, but those gray eyes were resentful as they swung back to focus on her.
“I know you’re angry, Holt, but I didn’t have anything to do with this,” she pleaded. “How could either of us know what our fathers would do?”
“I feel like a damned fool,” he growled, furiously raking a hand through his newly cropped black hair.
Angel shook her head. “You’re not. Neither of us had any inkling that Arthur might have sold out. My father never mentioned it. He always referred to Arthur Murphy as his partner.”
Holt briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were dark with anguish. “Everything,” he rasped, “everything I’ve ever done and been and had was wrapped up in that mine. There’s nothing left now.”
Angel started to protest, but he savagely cut her off.
“I don’t want your pity. I’ll be damned if I’ll take your charity, Angel McCloud. You should be happy now. You have the whole mine and now you can buy back your precious Belle Montagne.”
“I told you, Craddock won’t sell. Even if he would, I wouldn’t use your half of the mine to pay for it.” She paused. “One more thing: The name’s Angel Murphy now. What I have is yours.”
“The marriage isn’t legal,” Holt shouted. Several passersby looked at them with alarm and hurried past.
“Prove it.” Hands on her hips, Angel squared off with the glowering Holt, her chin jutting out stubbornly. “Go ahead, Mr. Murphy; prove I’m not your wife.”
“Prove that you are,” he hurled back.
“Fine. We’ll head on back to Oro and get those papers from Neal —”
“What did you say?” Holt’s voice was quiet and dangerous. He stepped closer to her, his brows low. “What the hell does he have to do with this?”
Angel flushed under his hard stare. “I asked Neal if the marriage was legitimate. I showed him the papers and he said it was.” She raised her chin a notch. “Your brother ought to know. He’s a minister, after all.”
“He’s a base opportunist, and a liar to boot,” Holt snarled. “I might have known he was in on this with you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you two probably cooked up this whole clever scheme together.” He sneered as she took a step backwards. “What’s the matter, Mrs. Murphy? Did that strike a little too close for comfort?”
“No, of course not. You’re being ridiculous. Neal and I —”
“That’s right, Neal and you. I wonder why I didn’t see it before. Those pretty blue eyes of yours could entrap any man, even a man of God.”
“Holt, you’re making a big mistake.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. “No, lady, you are.” He tilted up her chin and goaded her one more time. “But there’s one thing I know for sure, sweetheart. Even my paragon of a brother can’t kiss like this.”
Hard and quick, Holt’s lips slanted down across hers, jolting her to the core like summer lightning. Angel gasped and grabbed his lapels for support, weaving unsteadily while she absorbed the impact of his barely leashed anger. Then roughly he set her away from him, his eyes harder than before.
“There. A souvenir of our sweet, short honeymoon.”
Angel touched her bruised and throbbing lips. “You don’t mean it, Holt.”
“Don’t I?” Without another word he turned and briskly strode away through the milling traffic of carts and horses.
WATCHING HOLT VANISH INTO the hubbub of the city, Angel felt the pain of loss so sharply, she doubled over from it. She crossed an arm across her waist and managed to make it to a wooden bench.
There she sat and collected herself, ignoring the rush and press of humanity around her, too stunned to consider her options.
“Miss? Ticket, miss?”
A whiskered man wearing the railroad insignia on his cap stopped to hold out his hand.
“I’m not waiting for a train.”
“Then you’d best move. This bench here’s for folks waitin’ to ride the rail.”
“Oh, I see. I’m sorry.” She rose and he steadied her.
“There now. You sure you’re all right?” He looked at her doubtfully, as if suspecting she might be intoxicated.
Angel nodded. “Yes, thank you. I’m just a little disoriented. I’m not familiar with Denver. “ She hurried off before he could ask further questions.
Back at the boardinghouse, Angel collected her few things, hesitating when she found the cache of coins Holt had left there, knotted in a silk kerchief. She did need a means of survival, after all, and a way to get back to Oro.
Thoughts of Rachel and Neal heartened her, so she didn’t feel so guilty when she took a few coins and slipped them into her bodice for safekeeping.
Maybe Holt only needed time to come around. When he found Angel gone he might be persuaded to look for her and make amends.
She only wished she could believe it as certainly as she wished it.
Chapter Fourteen
ANGEL WAS WAITING FOR the last stagecoach to Oro City when she saw a familiar figure coming down the boardwalk. There would be no more stages west until spring, so she was forced to stand her ground. But it wasn’t easy, especially when Craddock halted right before her.
Hooking a hand into the waistcoat barely buttoned over his huge stomach, Craddock rocked back on his heels with glib satisfaction.
“So we meet again, m’dear.” He grinned triumphantly at her. “Really, you’re wasting your time trying to escape me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Angel snapped, turning the other way.
Craddock moved to her other side, forcing a confrontation. “I know everything you do, everywhere you go. I know your half-breed abandoned you.” He clucked his tongue sympathetically. “I told you he wasn’t a reliable sort.”
“You know nothing about Holt or me,” Angel said. She waved to get the stage master’s attention. “This man is harassing me,” she complained when he came over.
The stage master nodded at Craddock. “Afternoon, Will.”
“Percy.” The rich widower nodded dismissively at the man. The stage master moved off, avoiding Angel’s angry stare. She bristled with outrage. She should not be forced to suffer Craddock’s attentions.
“I wasn’t aware you had so many connections in the Territory,” Angel said coldly.
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